


SUMMER OF SHERLOCK: Entry No. 28. The Visit

by Sabrina_Phynn



Series: The Visit [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-28
Updated: 2011-08-28
Packaged: 2017-11-10 04:09:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/462058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sabrina_Phynn/pseuds/Sabrina_Phynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mummy comes to visit.  She is not quite what John had expected, and something is off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	SUMMER OF SHERLOCK: Entry No. 28. The Visit

**Username:** [](http://sabrinaphynn.livejournal.com/profile)[**sabrinaphynn**](http://sabrinaphynn.livejournal.com/)  
 **Type of work** : Fiction  
 **Category** : General, tiny hint of UST  
 **Title** :The Visit  
 **Prompt(s) used** :Mummy comes for a visit  
 **Rating** : PG  
 **Word count:** 1100-ish  
 **Warnings** : Mention of terminal illness of minor canon character;  
not as complete as I wanted  
 **Notes/Acknowledgments** : Dedicated to my own mother, who died June 29, 2011. This took a turn from fluff to something else and became exceedingly difficult to write. It will be continued. Consider this the start to something more.

 

Vivienne Holmes shut her purse with a decided snap.

“Five months, if not treated then. That is… enlightening. Thank you for your directness, Dr. Bell. May I call you Joseph? “

The forensic medical man blinked twice then swallowed.

“Of course.”

“ Well, Joseph, it seems I have a visit to London to make.”

“ I could call a few colleagues …”

“ Oh, no. Sorry, you misunderstood me there." She patted his cheek lightly, as no one had, not in 20 years, continuing, "You are the fourth doctor to tell me the diagnosis of stomach cancer, but the only one to give me a semi-honestly clear answer regarding the prognosis. Now, I need to see my sons.“

She picked up the folder sitting next to her and calmly walked out the door.

***************************************************************

John Watson was not an unobservant man. He was a doctor, after all, and his remarkable experience of spending the past few months running through London with a the slightly mad genius that was his flat mate had improved his innate ability to acquire information and discern conclusions. But the sight that greeted him as he entered their shared rooms after a routine shift at the surgery was so alien, he came close to dropping the takeout onto the floor in shock. It was so completely wrong. 221B was immaculate.

It smelled… not like the cut-rate cleaner that he kept under the sink, nor the lemony cleaner he knew Mrs. Hudson was fond of using, but something subtle, faintly lavender. All of Sherlock’s flasks and chemical equipment was sparking, nearly stacked by the one corner cabinet. There was nary a trace of a human body part to be seen in the refrigerator, and someone had stocked both it and the pantry. The bookshelves, normally spilling out with papers, books and assorted debris were pristine, and could the books possibly be alphabetized?

He put away the curry and made tea, sitting in his usual chair. If the end of the world was coming, he might as well have a cuppa first.

Sherlock was just turning the key to 221B, returning from a day’s research at the British Museum, when Mycroft called.

“What is it NOW? I am right in the middle of… oh. Oh, yes, I understand. When? Yes, yes of course. No, I won’t… no, I have NOT deleted that fact, thank you very much. Right then, if she absolutely insists. No particular reason? None? Yes, I agree, quite odd. What do you mean you haven’t been watching her; you never let me get away from those damn cameras… YOU WHAT?! “

He hung up the phone as he surveyed the immaculate room, with John sitting in his usual chair, a cold cup of tea in his hands, blankly staring into space, dazed, and reached out to place a tentative hand on his shoulder, giving a slight shake.

“John, it seems we are to have a visit; my apologies, Mycroft neglected to tell me he sent over his minions.”

“A visit?! Sherlock, just who is coming to visit?! Who is important enough to have ... that is, if Mycroft is involved… it's not, um, royalty, or anything … “

Sherlock let loose a small, bitter laugh that sounded far too much like Mycroft for John’s comfort.

“Not royalty, per se, but ... might as well be, to Mycroft. No, the visitor is… Mother.”

John closed his eyes and inwardly groaned. Mother. Damn. Mothers always seem to know things, and what chance could he have keeping his growing... feelings ... from showing from the mother to these two? Oh, god! He was doomed.

************************************************************************

As a graduation present, the London house had been transferred to Mycroft in full. It made sense, really, given how rare her visits to the great city had been over the past twenty-odd years, and her elder son’s needing to be as close as possible to his work at all times. Strange now to be returning as a visitor, Vivienne mused. Well, time to go on in, no use lingering. She raised her hand to the knocker, only to have the door open on its own.

“Mummy, come in, I’ve only just steeped the tea.”

It was not surprising to see how little had changed in the house. It still reminded her of something out of a gothic novel, which she could only suppose was to her older son’s liking. He always was the odd duckling that way.

They sat, sipping tea in the back garden.

"So, work is going well?"

"As well as can be expected... Though there was a spot of trouble a few weeks back. Mummy, why are you here, really?"

"Mycroft, do I need a reason?"

He scoffed. "You've not bothered in several years. Why start now? "

She jutted her chin foreword stubbornly, a small muscle jumping in her cheek. "I wanted to see my boys. That is reason enough."

He gave her a long, searching look, then quietly replied, "I suppose it is. Where are you staying while in town?"

"The Grange Blooms. "

"Very nice. Shall I arrange a dinner party while you are here?"

"Certainly, just ... keep it small will you?"

They finished their tea in companionable silence. They never had been much for small talk.

************************************************************************

Sherlock, of course, was an entirely different story.

He hugged her tightly then pulled back and started rattling off observations.

"You've lost weight, and are paler than usual. There's a bruise at your inner elbow, fading but still rather painful, given the way you are holding your left arm. You've been traveling- America, then - Scotland?! Mother ... " he scowled at her, puzzled and concerned, a tiny wrinkle starting just between his brows.

"Oh, for goodness' sake, Sherlock, breathe!" Vivienne scolded, " Can you at least make introductions properly before you start in, or did you fail to note your landlady and flatmate are standing behind you? And, dearest? It is nice to see you, too."

John Watson took a brief moment to appreciate the look of shock on Sherlock's face before extending his hand in greeting. It was not every day that one met someone capable of making Sherlock stop mid-thought.

"Ma'am, pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise, Doctor Watson, likewise."

"Please, call me John." His smile went all the way to his eyes, she noted.

Sherlock shifted awkwardly, watching them closely. "Mother, may I introduce our landlady, Mrs. Hudson? "

"You may, dearest, but as Lizzy and I are old friends, that really is not needed. How are you, my dear?"

"I'm very well, Viv, except for the hip, and you? You do look a little peaky, but then, you would be tired from all that traveling. Do come on in. "

Sherlock was struck speechless for a full ten seconds, flushing slightly then muttering incoherently in French.

John was shaking with silent laughter, tears filling his eyes from the effort of not guffawing out loud. This was not exactly what he had expected from Sherlock's mother, but it was so much more.. enlightening.


End file.
